


Five Times that Henry Wishes Alex Didn't Recite Lists While Drunk (+ the One Time that Changes His Mind)

by sagesiren



Category: Red White & Royal Blue - Casey McQuiston
Genre: Fluff, Inexcusable levels of fluff, M/M, pure fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24222163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sagesiren/pseuds/sagesiren
Summary: Henry shuts his laptop. “Do you have a—”“I have a list.”“Of course.”
Relationships: Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor
Comments: 30
Kudos: 627





	Five Times that Henry Wishes Alex Didn't Recite Lists While Drunk (+ the One Time that Changes His Mind)

**Author's Note:**

> I had the very common experience of being unable to put this book down after I started, and fell in love with it right away, and then felt the need to write this very indulgent fluff fic!

1.

Henry has only been home ten minutes before Alex, on the far end of tipsy from a we-survived-the-first-year-of-law-school celebration he’d attended, climbs onto Henry’s lap and starts to pull his trousers down.

“You taste like a distillery,” Henry says with a fond smile, lifting his hips and sliding a hand down Alex’s arm. 

Alex’s responsive pout is more adorable than it has any right to be. “You taste like, uh.” He kisses him again when he can’t think of an answer, and Henry is now familiar with the sloppiness that comes when Alex has had a few drinks, but he certainly doesn’t mind any form of kissing after weeks away. 

“I love these,” Alex murmurs, already on an entirely different train of thought, and Henry laughs.

“What, kisses?”

“ _ No _ , these.” Alex snaps the waistband of his pants against his abdomen. “‘S a good color. And tight.”

“You’ve rated my pants in your head, have you?” Henry asks, pushing fingers through Alex’s curly hair, reverent.

Alex, looking positively affronted, lifts his head to catch Henry’s eye. “Of course. These are… Mm. Second. Third’s the blue. And the,” he motions up and down with his hand, looking more obscene than intended. 

“The stripes,” Henry supplies, ever the supportive boyfriend.

Alex nods. “Stripes, fourth. Fifth: none.”

“I don’t think that counts.”

“It counts.”

Henry helps Alex out of his shirt and presses lips to his collarbone. “You didn’t tell me your favorite pair.”

“Anytime you wear mine,” he breathes, moving his hips over Henry’s in a way that makes him happy to end the conversation right there.

* * *

2.

The back of the car is too full, and they should really have taken multiple cars, but Alex is sitting on Henry’s lap again, June, Nora, and Pez are looking comfortably squished, and Bea is looking content enough to be minding them and controlling the Aux cord.

“The Royal Throne,” Alex says out of nowhere, and Henry opens his heavy eyelids, tucks his chin over Alex’s shoulder. 

His mouth is thick and words feel heavy but he manages to get out, “What about it?”

“That,” Alex starts, and there’s a glint in his eye that Henry can hear from his tone of voice, “is the best name for your dick. It's somewhere to sit.”

Pez lets out a whoop and Henry is too far gone to blush, but he wrinkles his nose. “Doesn’t apply so much to us,” he says, quietly enough so that only Alex can hear. 

At least, he’d thought he was quiet. 

Bea makes a face and squints down at her phone, trying to focus on it, and mutters something that sounds like, “too sober for this,” while Nora laughs. 

“Big Ben!” Alex says, twisting in his lap to beam at him.

“Big Hen,” Pez suggests, and elbows Henry, and his brain is still catching up.

“Why are we talking about my dick?” he asks, and bites at Alex’s nape, going for a distraction. 

“I have made a list. The list. Henry, it needs a name.”

“I don’t think it does.”

“The Royal Scepter.”

“Alex,” Henry groans, and buries his face in his neck. 

“The Tower of London.”

“Are they all landmark themed?” Nora asks, leaning closer, words stretching as she speaks. June is rather occupied with Pez’s mouth, and Bea is still pretending to be a part of the car’s upholstery, and he suddenly knows he is on his own in this.

“Most of them,” Alex says with a solemn nod.

“You need to expand your horizons. There’s so many options.” She pats his thigh. When her hand is gone, Henry puts his hand there instead, possessive. “Excalibur!”

Pez untangles himself and says, “Fish and chips. It covers,” he motions to Henry’s hips under Alex, “more ground.”

Alex starts to giggle. 

“Whatever you’re about to say, don’t,” Henry warns.

“Please do,” June counters.

He pauses for dramatic effect. Henry makes a face in anticipation. “The Great British Pound.”

“The Crown Jewels,” Bea adds begrudgingly, to everyone’s delight but Henry’s.

“Banger and Mash,” Alex says in an English accent. It’s terrible when he’s sober, and is absolutely  _ dreadful _ drunk, and Henry may be pissed himself but he’s with it enough to wince at the sound of it. “Full English Breakfast,” Alex continues. He shifts on Henry’s lap in a way that makes Henry concerned he's thinking about getting to his knees then and there to tuck into said meal.

The car stops right in time at Kensington, and Henry practically shoves Alex out of the car.

“The Royal Throne is still my favorite,” Alex says, as Henry drags him inside, slams him against the first surface and crushes their mouths together to stop him from adding anything else to the bloody list.

"When we're, er, tomorrow," Henry says, still struggling with words, trailing wet kisses along Alex’s shoulder, "we can talk about where you want to sit."

Alex moans.

* * *

  
  


3.

The White House Trio has a long standing tradition of drinking while watching Jeopardy, and Alex teaches the game to Henry the first chance he gets. It happens to be summer semester, watching reruns, enjoying the (slightly) less hectic schedule they both have.

Henry thinks the rules are easy enough: a drink for a wrong response, your opponent drinks for a correct response. Either way, Alex will get tipsy and handsy and they both win. 

It really does seem like a good idea.

“I shouldn’t have to drink for this,” Henry huffs. It’s the beginning of Double Jeopardy and he’s already nearing the end of his second large glass. “I gave the correct answer.”

“Not in the form of a question,” Alex tuts, swirling his still-full second glass like the braggart he is.

Henry is of the opinion that the game is bollocks as he misses the daily double and has to finish his glass entirely. “I was  _ right _ ,” he grumbles, setting down his glass and crossing his arms. Alex gamely fills the glass back up. “It  _ is _ the boson particle. I couldn’t remember the scientist’s name but I had the  _ particle _ correct. Higgs. Hm. Plenty of, of honorable scientists don’t have their names on their discoveries and I should have gotten the point.”

Alex grins at him. “You’re such a dork.”   
  


“I’m correct. You didn’t **—** didn’t know the Higgs, er. The particle.”

“No, but I do know that that’s on the list of nerdiest things you’ve said to me."

“It’s common knowledge.”

“It’s far down, maybe, but arguing on behalf of the honor of nameless scientists? Pretty nerdy, babe.”

Henry refuses to think it’s cute that Alex keeps track of those things. Thinking things are cute is something sober Henry will handle later when he’s not annoyed at losing.

“What else is there?”

“The stuff about Wagner and music.”

“The list is that old?”

Alex puts his arm up on the back of the couch and Henry scoots closer, but somehow misses his chest and winds up with his head on Alex’s thigh instead. Henry doesn’t mind. 

“Keeping track of pretentious stuff you said started as something to hold against you,” Alex teases, gently stroking his hand through Henry’s hair. 

Henry closes his eyes. Final Jeopardy be damned. 

“There’s the time you spoke to my sister for over an hour about how baking was a science, and how amateur bakers underestimate the ‘complexity of proportions in recipes,’ the time you got so frustrated that you couldn’t remember the genus for a hummingbird you had to stop what you were doing to look it up and then tell me about the Greek roots, as if I had asked you. And there’s the time you debated the best font for a poem and even phoned a friend to ask for advice.”

“It’s Garamond,” Henry says indignantly, because Alex still doesn’t understand the importance of a strong serif font, and it’s tragic. 

“God, you’re cute.”

“I’m sleepy. You win,” he mumbles. Alex leans down to kiss his forehead.

* * *

  
4.

“Babe.”

“Yes, dear?” Henry doesn’t look up from his laptop, set atop his legs where he’s curled up in his favourite armchair. He’s looking over real estate listings Pez has sent him for their Detroit shelter, and after he finishes picking the location - and doing the research on the neighborhood, what community driven efforts already exist and which they can help create - he’ll need to arrange the flight out there, the security, his housing for the week, and then remind Nora to check in on Alex in a few days as he is already starting his last midterms spiral, if the bottle of whiskey sitting on his textbook is any indication.

“I think there’s a ghost.”

“Right.”

Alex sets aside his textbook. “No, seriously. There’ve been so many weird things and a ghost would explain it.”

Henry lifts his eyes but nothing else. “If you’re seeing things, I think you should put the whiskey away.”

“Ha, ha, you’re hilarious.” Alex moves to the edge of the couch, the closest spot to the armchair. “You really haven’t noticed the weird things in this house?”

“Hm.”

“Henry.”

Henry shuts his laptop. “Do you have a **—** ”

“I have a list.”

“Of course.”

“Things get moved, like, all the time.” Alex rests his chin on his hand, perches his elbow on the sofa’s arm. “Remember how I couldn’t find my reading glasses? I always put them in the same spot on my nightstand, so why were they on the kitchen counter last night? And that’s not the first time that’s happened.”

“Sweetheart,” Henry says, in his most placating voice, “you lose your things quite often. And you have a habit of getting yourself post-midnight study snacks while wearing your glasses. You likely wore them down to the kitchen, took them off to look in the fridge, and simply forgot.”

Alex frowns. “Well, that brings me to number two: the curtains over the kitchen window? They always flutter. Even when the window is shut! And it’s always a little colder there.”

“The window isn’t airtight.”

“What about the noises I hear at night? It’s not like there are Secret Service Agents walking the halls.”

Henry sighs. “That’s the house settling. Old homes do that. You likely would have heard it in the Residence if it weren’t for the constant movement in the house at night.”

“I don’t think you care about this as much as you should,” Alex says, narrowing his eyes. 

“And I think you care a little too much,” Henry replies, though his lips pull up in a reluctant smile. He moves to the couch and closes the bottle of whiskey, sets it on the coffee table. “Anything else on the list?”

“Twelve more things.”

“Am I going to find logical reasons for all of them?”

Alex picks up his textbook, leans back into Henry, who obligingly wraps an arm around his waist. “I hate you so much,” he mutters.

"I know. Can I help you study?”

“Yes, please.”

* * *

  
5.

Henry charters a plane to fly them back to New York, and the relief they both feel is tangible as soon as it takes off. His jaw unclenches, Alex’s shoulders relax. 

It had even been one of the more pleasant trips, as much as meeting with his Gran ever was.

“Thank god they serve drinks,” Alex says, already with a glass in hand. The speed with which he acquires alcohol is astonishing, and Henry tells him as much. “It’s a talent.”

Henry smiles, gets his own drink, and after an hour Alex is making clear just how glad is he to be speeding away from London.

“And another thing that is stupid about England? Why the ever loving fuck do you have circuses that aren’t circuses?”

“What do you mean? It’s a circus,” Henry says, and gestures his hand in front of him, “a circular area. It makes sense.”

“No clowns, no circus.”

“A clown does not a circus make.”

"That," Alex says, pointing an accusing finger, "is another thing. Everyone with those accents. And **—** and! Did you know," he leans forward in his seat, "that Big Ben is the bell? The  _ bell _ Henry!"

"I'm the Prince of Wales, of course I knew that."

"That is… that's false advertising. I should sue. I'll be my own representa-tative." He fumbles over the last syllables, which makes Henry think it's time for them both to switch to water. 

He turns to catch eyes with the stewardess. "Lord knows how I ever fell for someone so American."

"And the food," Alex continues, looking especially affronted, "all bland, boiled, white person bullshit. The only good stuff is your take out. And that's, why do you call it 'takeaway?'"

Henry snorts. "I thought that one was rather obvious. You take it away from the restaurant."

"It's the alternative to eating it in the restaurant. You take it out. Is away the opposite of in?" Alex raises his eyebrows.

Henry regrets dating a lawyer.

"There’s driving on the left, too. Nobody else does that." 

"Plenty of places do. Australia, India. South Africa. Shall I keep going? There's more."

"All former colonies. If they'd had a chance to decide for themselves they'd have chosen the right, correct way to do it." Alex accepts his water graciously, and hands over the empty tumbler he'd been emphasizing his points with. "That's the problem with you monarchs."

"Oh? Is the monarchy at the top of your itemized list?" Henry asks, the familiar glint of a playful argument in Alex's eye likely meaning they would wind up in the small plane bathroom soon, if history proved to repeat itself.

"One specific monarch, actually."

"If you say the Queen, I think Shaan might be legally obligated to kill you."

Shaan neither confirms nor denies this from where he sits, reading, across the aisle. 

Alex gets up to take the seat next to Henry. "The worst part about your stupid country is that you lived so far from me for so long."

Henry's smile is soft and he catches Alex in a sweet kiss.

"You're also a pretentious asshole," Alex says, just as sweet.

Henry laughs, gives him a playful shove. "This pretentious asshole is paying for the plane. I can get you a parachute and a life vest if you're unhappy. Or fly you home coach next time."

Alex grabs a blanket and adjusts it over both of them, takes an incredibly conspicuous glance around.

Shaan clears his throat, stands with his book, and walks further down the aisle toward the end of the jet next to Cash, right as Alex's hand finishes sliding up the inseam of Henry's trousers. 

This is a bad idea, but if the crew hadn't all signed NDAs, Shaan would have stopped them. He assumes, anyway.

"Any more grievances you'd like to air?" Henry asks, his voice breathier than it had been a few seconds before. 

"I'll give you the rest of the list later," Alex murmurs, and kisses his neck.

"I look forward to it," he lies, and rests his head back against the seat.

* * *

  
  


+1

The last New Year’s party at the White House is, as Alex keeps telling him, ‘the best.’ 

Whether he’s comparing it to the other years, or to everything else in the world, Henry’s unsure, but when they’re dancing close to a slow song, then closer for one more upbeat, and Alex tries to kiss him, and misses, and tries again, and says, “This party is the  _ best _ ,” Henry can’t help but agree. 

He stops drinking right after the countdown, getting contemplative as he does every year on what they’ve decided is their anniversary. Alex does two more shots on the way out to the garden.

It’s empty, as it always is, the space theirs. They kiss under the tree, look up at the stars, and when Henry notices Alex’s swaying is not meant to be a dance but is instead related to how drunk he is, he guides them to the closest bench.

“I have a list,” Alex says, the heat coming off of him enough to keep Henry warm as they cuddle closer. 

Henry beams. This is who he wants to spend the rest of his life with. “You usually do.”

“But this,” he starts, slurring as he pats Henry’s leg, “is the most important.”

“Go on, then.”

“Reasons we should get married.”

Henry looks down at him, eyebrows raised. His head is still swimming, and the things he says are still coming out before his brain can catch up, but he has - barely - enough control of himself to not pull out the ring box he has in his jacket pocket. 

He’s been carrying it for days now, in case the opportunity presented itself. The current plan is to propose at their dinner the next night. 

Partially because he'd chickened out at midnight that night, and partially because he wanted Alex to be relatively sober.

"Number one: your hands are very pretty," Alex says, forging on. He reaches for one of Henry's fingers, pops the tip of it in his mouth, and then grins up as Henry flushes. "Number two: I can make you blush, and it's really cute. Like, I wanna make you blush every day."

Henry knows he's grinning like an idiot, and knows he's turning even more red. "What's number three?"

"You've had your mouth, like, everywhere on me, you know? More than anyone. So we may as well... seal the deal."

"Christ, Alex," Henry laughs. 

Alex puts his hand over Henry's mouth. "Shh. I'm being romantic. Four is, you ground me. Like when I'm," his hand flutters around his head, "and you give me water when I ask you for more coffee."

"Usually that makes you curse my name and my family."

"That too."

Henry rests his head on Alex’s. "Is there a fifth?"

"Yeah." Alex closes his eyes. Henry can tell by the sound of his voice. They're approaching the point where Alex decides he needs to sleep, or get more alcohol. "One more that I can remember."

"Do you want to tell me, or should we go to bed?"

"I'll say it," he says, but yawns. "I don't want to go to bed."

"You never do. Come on."

Henry stands them up, and his legs aren't as steady as they ought to be, really. He's functioning solely by comparison. 

They go inside, and are pulled into what is meant to be one last dance, with one last drink, and don't leave until it's nearing three, the both of them waxing and waning but keeping a steady buzz through the night regardless. 

By the time they're in bed - and they've long since given up on the pretense that Henry isn't spending the night in the East bedroom; Alex's family has seen the bedroom they share in the Brownstone every other night, so the propriety ship has sailed - Henry is sure that Alex has forgotten. 

Between lazy kisses and slow hands, Alex smiles down at him, loose and brimming with a tenderness that almost hurts to be on the receiving end of, and says, "Number five is that you're my forever."

Henry stills. There’s nothing he can say to match the moment. His words come best when he can think, edit, double check before they’re shared, so he pulls Alex into a kiss and pours as much love into it that he can.

"You gotta… forget that," Alex mutters, after he pulls back for a breath. "Just in case I want that list to be a surprise."

"Are you planning on proposing?" Henry can already hear Alex calling him an asshole tomorrow for beating him to it.

"It’s a secret."

"Will I get to hear the entire list?"

"What list?" Alex says innocently, and pulls the covers up over them. "Don't know what you're talking about."

Henry doesn't know that he won't hear the full list for another year and a half, until the night before their wedding, when they're reading their real, personalized, only-for-them vows to each other, and that it will be numbered well over a hundred.

He does, however, realize that Alex's drunk lists are something he doesn't quite mind.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr at sagesiren :)


End file.
